Blood Relation
by Hrlyqin
Summary: Constance had four children, she would tell anyone. But what if that weren't the truth? Eternity is a long time to live with a lie.
1. Chapter 1

**Blood Relations ` An American Horror Story: Murder House fanfiction ` By hrlyqin **

**ONE**

Drunk again last night. The mistress of the house was passed out on the couch, her untidy pile of hair flecked with cigarette ash. She wasn't dead, although that was bound to happen sooner or later, but she had thrown up all over herself, the sofa and the carpet.

Must be Tuesday.

Moira sighed heavily and picked up the overflowing ashtray to empty it. She hadn't thought it was going to be like this. She knew it wouldn't be a dream job, but maybe she'd work for a nice family and she could play with the kids sometime and the wife would give her dresses she didn't want anymore. Something tolerable. Her job with the Langdons so far was pretty much a goddamn horror show. She drank like a fish and wandered around the house in these flowery dresses acting like something out of Tennessee Williams, telling stories about her grand debutante upbringing. That was when she wasn't doing her jigsaw puzzles or clipping out recipes from magazines on the couch, which inevitably would unravel into a scene like this. The husband was pretty much never home, not a big surprise, and when he was they would scream at each other nonstop until he left again. He drank too, at least when _**she**_ drank she didn't try to grab her ass while she was scrubbing the mildew off the goddamned bathtub. As far as Moira's nice little idea about building blanket forts with little munchkins while the adults had Mommy and Daddy time, that was the biggest joke of all. The little boy had something really wrong with him, like really, and she felt like shit about it but she was scared of him. He was always trying to hug her or touch her and it just made her skin crawl. The little girl, she had that birth defect, you know the one, but that didn't mean she wasn't an evil little fuck. Just last week she had bit Moira, BIT HER, when she tried to bring her laundry into the bedroom. What a brat.

Their other kid was dead. There were pictures of her all over. She had some kind of disease that killed her when she was still tiny and cute (okay, tiny and crossed eyed with a head that was too big). Moira supposed she should feel bad about it, but from what she saw, the girl got out while she could and was fucking lucky for it. She guessed that was why they both drank all the time and couldn't seem to stand the sight of one another. She was pretty sure when they did screw it wasn't a beautiful and flowering moment. Probably, they only stopped hurling insults back and forth long enough to climax.

She shuddered involuntarily, thinking about...well, exactly what she told herself she wasn't going to think about ever again. It had been just one time, he was home and she was out at some garden party thing. He seemed like he was sober, which was kind of a big deal, and he came into the kitchen when while she was cutting up apples for one of Constance's 'homemade' (not Maid-made) pies. Moira had been standing there stupidly with the knife and just as he came in, she had pressed down in the wrong spot and slit her finger open.

"Shit!" she yelled, dropping the blade onto the cutting board. She clutched her index finger with her other hand and blanched while blood welled up and began dripping from the wound.

"I hear those things are sharp." was what he had said. Joking. Smiling. Taking her hand and rinsing it under the tap. Brushing it off when she tried to apologize for using that kind of language.

"I've also heard adults swear from time to time. You're an adult, aren't you Moira?"

"Yessir." she replied, ducking her head a little.

"I know that because I called you 'kid' one time and you gave me this look that was very un-employee like."

Since he didn't seem angry about it, she laughed that off too. When she was all doctored up, she had tried to excuse herself to get back to work but he wouldn't let her. "Leave it." he said, flapping his hand in the direction of the apples. "I want to talk to you."

In a single second, her thoughts and her heart began racing. He was going to fire her. She swore too much and she was late last week and she knew that she needed to keep things cleaner but this was only like her third job ever, she had only done hotels and that was different and didn't he know she was really trying? It wasn't like she did an absolute shit job either, there were just so many of them to make a mess and it was hard to keep up with everything when you kept getting sidetracked by vodka vomit. She put up with the arguing and the kids and all the other stuff so she deserved to stay, didn't she? What if he wouldn't even give her a reference? She would wind up waitressing or doing god knows what else. She worked herself up into a near frantic frenzy and was so sure she was going to get the ax that when he told her "I'm sorry.", her brain couldn't even process it. All she could do was stare at him.

"For Constance. I know she could be nicer to you. She's going through kind of a rough patch, but she shouldn't act like she does."

"It doesn't bother me." Moira shrugged. "I know you've both been through a lot."

"That's not really an excuse though. She just...you know, when she was your age, you and her would have been thick as thieves." As he was talking, her was rubbing her still captive hand and she didn't even notice, his voice was so soft and transfixing. "She was fire. No one could tell her what to do. No one could stop her once she got an idea in her head. She was going to be a big star, after she got done conquering the world." He laughed, but it was soft now too, a soft and sad sound. "When Tessie was born and she got sick, it nearly broke our hearts, but it didn't break her. We tried again and got Beau, our little General and then Addie...you have no idea what it feels like, trying to figure out what you did wrong, when your children are born sick. She's given up. And then there's you..."

"Me?"

"Here she is, and she isn't so young anymore, having to see you all the time, with your soft skin, and your eyes, and your legs..." He gave her a look that was both sympathetic and very...appreciative, she guessed was how she would put it. "...reminding her of what she'll never get back."

"Mrs. Langdon is a beautiful woman."Moira said quickly. "Really. I always wanted to be a blond."

"Oh no, not you." He touched her hair now and then the line of her face as she turned her head away. "I love redheads. It's what makes her so jealous."

"Um, thank you." She was looking at the wall now. None of this should be happening but she didn't know how to stop it. This was one of those things, like a story in some smutty book that you didn't think really came up in real life. She had laundry to do, and she had to get the floors in the foyer too before she went home. She knew that she should leave the room. Her brain told her so, but her legs wouldn't listen and her body wasn't sure it wanted to.

Normally, this would never come up. Hugo Langdon was rude, mean to his wife, negligent to his kids and he definitely didn't have time to socialize with 'the help' ever. But he was being so nice right now. He started talking to her about him and Constance, all the things they had wanted when they got married. How bad he felt about the kids. How much he just wanted a 'normal' one and how much worse it made him feel to think that way. Moira understood perfectly. He was so sad and human and really just like anyone else. She found herself feeling sorry for him before long. When he kissed her, he acted like he was shocked that he had done it, and that made her want to kiss him back. All this talk and understanding and his studied hands in the right places and soon enough she wasn't even listening to her brain anymore. She let her body take over.

They did it twice, the first time on the kitchen floor and then again in the bedroom. Even as it was happening she couldn't believe it was happening, but it felt good. He was gentle, but not too gentle, and he seemed to know everything she liked. It was kind of amazing. There was no time to be guilty about it.

Until later.

Later when she hurriedly redressed herself, despite his protests, and slunk out of the room. She couldn't say what changed really, but it had suddenly struck her that she was in his wife's bed with him and she felt sick over it. She couldn't get home fast enough. Once she was home, she couldn't get into the shower quick enough. She wanted to burn her uniform, that stupid little maid's outfit with it's fucking apron and the little buttons. The skirt came down almost to her knees but she had always felt cheap in it, and now she knew why. As she let the hot water hit her, she couldn't stop thinking about what he must be thinking right now. Maybe it was honest and genuine and just something that happened, but she felt like he had some mental checklist and Fuck The Maid was something he could cross off now.

"Just fucking great." she muttered as she ground the soap into her skin. "A guy smiles at you and tells you that he's sorry his wife is a bitch, that's all it takes. How can you be so stupid, Mo? This is like every horrible stereotype about people with servants, you're a walking cliché. Now when you go over there you won't know if you're going to be polishing the silver or polishing him off." She gagged, disgusted with herself. "And everything people every said about you will be true. Cheap, dumb trash." She lathered her stomach and her nails bit into her skin around the sponge. "Stupid slut. Whore. Stupid whore. God what were you thinking?" She was so angry with herself, and ashamed. Even if she hadn't played into some act he pulled, where did she get off running around with a married guy? It didn't matter if his wife was a major cunt. She was the other woman now. And they had kids too!

Anger became sadness, sadness became shame. Soon she stopped yelling at herself and just started crying. She must have stayed in there for an hour, sobbing loudly and then quietly, finally stopping and just feeling dumb and stupid. By the time she noticed that the water was ice cold, she was through being pissed (even if she still felt it) and through being sad (because it wouldn't help) and had definitely decided a few things.

First, she really would get rid of her uniform. She had another one that was almost as new and it would work for now. She would take it out to the woods this weekend and burn it. She never wanted to see it again.

Second, this would never happen again. She wasn't sure what she was going to do to get her point across to Hugo about that, but her mind was made up. This was a one-time-only, HUGE-mistake, Not-in-a-million-years deal. She was pretty sure that she could live with herself so long as she didn't start, like, having an affair with Hugo.

Third, she was going to keep her miserable, rotten job. If she left, people would want to know why and eventually she would tell someone. She wouldn't be able to help and it and then, her life was a joke. She would be a punchline or a cautionary tale or some other horrible thing. Also, it might be a shitty job but she really needed it. They paid better than anyone else in town and if she left, even if she found another place to work right away, it would be less money. How could she do that to her mom right now?

Speaking of her mom, that was number four: her Mom must never know. She'd either be ashamed, which she didn't deserve, or she would know how much Moira was in a crappy situation and give her sympathy and support, which Moira didn't deserve. So when Mom got home from the restaurant, Moira had changed into her jeans and made them some spaghetti. She had washed her face and blotted her eyes with ice until they weren't so red anymore. Just like every night, Mom got out her special pitcher of iced tea from the fridge and they sat down to eat together. When Dorothy asked her how her day went, Moira plastered on a smile so fake it sparkled.

"Oh you know, the usual." she answered.


	2. Chapter 2

**Blood Relations ` An American Horror Story: Murder House fanfiction ` By hrlyqin **

**TWO**

That thing that Moira was not going to think about ever again had happened 6 weeks ago. She knew it was exactly six weeks because she knew exactly when she should have gotten her period and exactly when she didn't. She could do the math from there.

She didn't know what she was going to do. She had a lot of ideas but none of them were good ones. She could keep it, or she could get rid of it, or she could really, _really _get rid of it. She could make Hugo give her money, or she could tell Constance and make her give her money. She could move to Boston where no one knew her and say she was a widow. She could kill herself.

Shit, she didn't know. How was she even supposed to know?

It was worse because she kept it a secret. There was no one to talk to because she didn't want anyone to know. She didn't even go to the doctor because it was pretty obvious. She got sick all the time. Her tits felt like they have been shoved into a meat grinder. There was also the curious absence of Aunt Flo's visit. She wished there was someone, anyone, she could confide in. She wanted to grab strangers on the street and scream into their faces that she was pregnant, just so she could talk about it.

It hadn't been so bad not thinking about Hugo until she figured out that they had ….she didn't know how to say it..._conceived_ together. He had been nicer and even though nothing else happened, she could tell he expected it because he was at home more. He was even civil to Constance and the kids. She couldn't even look at him without wanting to punch him. She watched him smiling at his wife while their fingers twined together and she wanted to drag him into the woods and set him on fire, just like her uniform with his stuff all over it. At least he didn't mention it. Short of playing grab ass a few times, he was downright cordial to her, exactly like a boss should be. But she looked at him and just...he would smile and all she could think was _You Lousy Motherfucker. Motherfucker. Mother fucker. You fucked me and now I'm a mother. Son of a bitch. _It was like a chant in her head that was driving her crazy.

At least her mom was so busy at work that she didn't really have time to notice what was going on. Or maybe she just pretended not to. Moira pretended not to notice that Dorothy's bones swelled and ached and Dorothy pretended not to notice that Moira didn't drink anymore but seemed to have 'the flu' a lot. Maybe that was where Moira got her cues from, because for now she decided the best thing to do was to do nothing. She would figure it out eventually, until then she couldn't worry about it. Maybe if she thought about it real hard, it would just go away.

Yeah, and maybe rabbits would start shitting gold.

But she couldn't keep it a secret for very long, and the person who noticed was the last person she expected to. Mrs. Langdon had been sunnier and nicer herself lately, she figured Hugo was in such a good mood he had spread the fuck around a little bit and maybe that was all Constance had needed. So when Moira was sponging up that a fresh drunk-throw-up stain out of the carpet and tossed her own cookies, instead of laughing at her like she was a moron or sending her home, Constance had let her get all of it out of her system and then sat her down in the kitchen for a cup of tea.

It was weird. First because apart from coming in for liquor and to pretend to make dinner, Moira didn't think Constance knew where the kitchen was. Second because she was stone sober and sympathetic as Moira sat down. It was all too familiar as they started talking, and Moira had enough humor left in her to hope Constance didn't try to fuck her too.

Well, at least that didn't happen.

They spoke about the job for awhile. Constance said that Addie was very fond of her, which Moira didn't buy at all but it was nice to hear. It was almost like gossiping with a friend. They had been chatting for a half hour when Constance sipped her tea, tapped out a cigarette and said, "You're pregnant, aren't you?"

She thought about lying, or swearing, or running, but instead she started crying. She was so ashamed and so relieved that someone else had said it before she had to. She was an ugly crier, all snot and red eyes and puffy lips, but Constance didn't say a word and even offered her a dishtowel to dry her face with when she was through. "I haven't told anyone yet." she said as way of an explanation.

"Yes, well, I could see why you wouldn't. Times are different these days, and this is California, but...there you have it." She sucked on the end of her cigarette and blew smoke in an elegant gesture that didn't at all call Moira a whore without saying a word. "Whose the father?"

"He's um, not in the picture anymore." she answered, looking down at her own hands in her lap.

Constance made a noise in her throat and did another one of those smoking glares that made Moira feel like trash but so pleasantly. "This is quite the predicament for you."

"Yes." She nodded.

"It doesn't look good for me either, having a servant waddling around my kitchen with a bastard in her belly. No offense dear."

_No, of course not, you uppity bitch. _

"Do you know what you're going to do with it?"

"No." she answered honestly, shaking her head.

"Well, I might be able to help you with that." Constance smiled at her and it was the most frightening thing Moira had ever seen. She felt like the woman might jump across the table and rip the kid right out of her belly. So when she started talking, Moira listened.

.

.

.

So now there were three big mistakes Moira could count in her life.

Mistake one was dropping out of school to help her Mom with money. No one was ever going to believe she had a brain in her head if she looked the way she did and didn't even finish high school. Maybe if she had, she could have done something with her life more than scrub toilets.

Mistake two was Hugo. He hadn't touched her since that one time but she knew that he was thinking about it whenever she was in the room. He'd make sure to slip in whenever she was on her knees or bending over something trying to get it clean and she'd catch him watching her, remembering the way she looked with her mouth open and her legs around him. She was glad when she didn't have to see his face anymore and feel his eyes on her.

Mistake three was what had brought her here. She had never felt so far away from home as she did in this room, but she couldn't risk anyone seeing her the way she was right now. When she had started to show, Constance had first sent her home with a terrible flu that was sure to last a month at least, with full pay of course because that's what good wealthy people did. She wore baggy clothes around the house and her Mom was either sleeping or working so she didn't even notice that Moira was bigger. When there was no hiding it any longer, Constance arranged some Machiavellian plan involving a trip back to the family farm in Virginia and desperately needing Moira to help with the children. Hugo hadn't argued, he was probably laying into some secretary or starlet right now, getting all his whiles out while he could before 'Constance' had the baby. Her mother hadn't minded, not when Moira gave her some pay up front to make sure things would be taken care of while she was summering with the Langdons. Dorothy had acted so proud of her daughter and her extra responsibilities that Moira had wanted to die from the shame of lying, but now she just wished she were here. She would give anything for her Mom right now.

As far as taking care of the kids, Constance and they were in the main old house with Constance's father and the nursing staff. Moira was shuffled off to the garage apartment where she only saw Constance or the doctor Constance had obtained for her. No kids in sight, except for the one growing heavy in her belly. She had books to read, and some cards if she wanted to play solitaire, but Constance didn't like her to go outside much, in case someone saw her and started asking questions. So she hid herself while Constance padded her own aged body and wore silky maternity dresses and did everything possible to display that she and Hugo were eminent parents once more. When she did talk to Moira, it was to ask how she felt and berate her for not eating enough fruit or not doing her stretches or just in general being a lousy person. She didn't know what the doctor had been told, but he was even worse and Moira suspected that in a past life he might have been a very angry nun.

So the only company she really had was this stranger inside her. She knew the deal, that she was going to give the baby to Constance and just try to get on with her life once this was all over, but she couldn't help but feel a connection to it. She would lay awake at night and talk to her stomach about everything she had wanted in life and about how Constance and Hugo might be fucking worthless people but they had money at least so it would have an easy life.

"You don't have to like them." she was saying to it. "But they can send you to the best schools, whatever college you want, and you can have piano lessons and a pony and all that good stuff. All these people want is a kid that's normal so they'll treat you like a princess, or you know, a prince, whichever, and I'm going to be around so I'll try to be your friend. Unless they fire me, but then their little secret would come out, wouldn't it?" She laughed at her own cleverness. "I might be cleaning their shitty shorts but I am going to get _**paid**_ to keep my mouth shut. And maybe, if I get enough money and I can leave one day, I'll take you with me, okay kiddo?"

Moira patted her stomach and a great wave of sadness came over her. It was nice to talk about it, but she knew that was never going to happen.

This was how things went for three months. Finally, late in August when she felt like she was going to just explode, she finally did. One minute she had been laying in bed reading The Bell Jar, the next minute she thought she pissed herself, and then the minute after that it started hurting.

She had no idea how much it was going to hurt. Women would never even have babies if they knew how much it was going to hurt. The species would die out. Twelve hours of labor with Constance pacing and smoking and the doctor making little jabbing comments and Moira feeling like she was going to be ripped in two before finally, FINALLY, it came out. Bleeding, smelling like shit, Moira let them cut the cord and carry it away before she collapsed back onto the bed. Just before the gray of exhaustion overtook her, she heard it crying.

When Moira came to, she was laying on clean sheets and smelled considerably better. Someone must have cleaned her up, not Constance she was sure but maybe Constance had supervised. That was almost nice of her. In fact, Constance was there with her right now. She was positively glowing, sitting in a chair by the bed with something tiny wrapped up in a fuzzy white blanket.

"What was it?" she asked tiredly.

"A boy. A little boy. And he's perfect. Mommy's perfect little son."

"Can I...?" she stopped, not sure what to say.

"Of course. I thought you might want to say.." she stopped too, also not sure what to say, and passed the boy over to Moira.

She looked, she_ inspected_, first thing, checking for webbed toes or club feet or any extra pieces that shouldn't be there, but he really was absolutely perfect. How the fuck had that happened, with her for a mom and Hugo for a father? He didn't even really look like either of them, just a delicate boy with soft hair and big eyes and all the right parts in all the right places. She looked at him and felt so many things at once she didn't know how where to start with processing them. There was shame still, for how he had came to be, but also fierce bright pride in how amazingly normal he seemed to be, like she had at last done something expertly. Then there was fear, fear that he would have a bad life or be unhappy, but she was giving him the best possible chance at life so there was nothing to be afraid of.

She **would** stay, to make sure he was alright. To make sure that bitch didn't screw him up and that he didn't turn into some smug philanderer like his father. His father who would think he was the father of Constance's baby, not knowing that the baby was actually his and Moira's. There was a small spiteful tickle inside her thinking that only she would really know the truth about their family, that it had taken her, a high school drop out in thrift stores clothes, to give them a perfect child. And he was, he really really was perfect.

"I was thinking of calling him Dashiel."said Constance. Moira had forgotten she was even there.

"Yeah if you want him to get his ass kicked every single day of his life."

"I've always been fond of Clancy too." she continued, ignoring Moira's sass.

She rolled her eyes but that was also ignored. "Maybe you should your husband pick he name this time."

"Maybe so." she shrugged breezily. Nothing was going to ruin her day today, not even snark from the common trash. "He'd like that. But he's going to be so busy with the new house. Anyway, time to give him back now Moira. Addie and Beau will want to see their new brother."

Her greedy little fingers reached for the child and Moira could see in her mind's eye the horrible farce that was going to take place now. Constance would pass the baby off to the doctor and trot back to the main house so she could slip into bed, muss her hair a little, work up a sweat and then present herself as the exhausted new mother. Moira would have to stay here, with flu, or food poisoning, or some other shit. Kept out of sight. And now, more alone than ever.

She clutched at him for a moment. She could easily shove that old bitch over and run. She could take the baby and run and then...well, she could hop on a bus and go somewhere, anywhere would work, and she could get a job waitressing again or maybe find a nice hotel. She'd have to make hotel money to be able to afford a baby sitter, and then she could send for her Mom. She couldn't go back home so Mom would have to come to Moira, leave her life and her friends behind and be uprooted and she'd still have to work, that was for sure. That was all if Constance didn't track her down and she was pretty sure that she did not want to see what this woman was capable of if she were truly, truly pissed off.

She sighed. It wouldn't work. It wasn't practical. She needed to stop thinking crazy. She looked away as Constance took the child from her, blinking her eyes and tears blurred her vision. She wanted...something different, anything, but she had no idea what. This couldn't be her life. It just couldn't.

Slow steps outside of the room and then she was by herself. Her arms, which had so recently held her son, felt as empty as the rest of her now.


	3. Chapter 3

**Blood Relations ` An American Horror Story: Murder House fanfiction ` By hrlyqin **

**THREE**

Empty arms. In the end, that was what life left you with.

Or unlife, either way.

She looked at her hands now, open to hold something that had never really been hers. Withered with age that had never really left its mark. The old woman, used up by the world and left to dry out in the sun, that was how she saw herself. The old woman who had learned to regret so much of her youth and who couldn't believe the way she had acted back then. This was a creature that didn't exist except as a ghost, but when Moira thought of herself, that was who she thought of.

She knew people like Doctor Harmon saw her as she was in life, wanton and contemptuous, thinking she knew so damn much, clad in her sexuality more than her clothes. It embarrassed her, the way she still acted sometimes, but there wasn't much she could do about it. She could think she had changed all she wanted to but part of her was always going to be that stupid angry girl and she couldn't hide that. This house had a way of revealing secrets.

But she did wonder how Tate saw her. Was she the whore to him or the crone? Something in between perhaps? She could ask him, but even with the strange nature of their afterlife, the question "How do I look to you?" was just too bizarre. Hanging there unanswered, it made her think. She didn't know how Tate saw her, so what was to say that she saw him as he really was? Maybe her shame at his conception, her regret over his life and her disgust at his behavior colored how harshly she judged him. Or maybe she was right not to give him any excuses – she knew better than anyone all the chances he had been given in life and all that he could have done. He _chose_ to be a killer and a liar. He could have been anything. Anything at all.

The most important question was if he ever saw herself in him. She saw it all the time but didn't think anyone else, for all the time on their hands, had noticed. She was sage now, calm and resigned to life as it was, but sometimes, when she forgot and misbehaved, they were so much alike. So pissed off. So smart about everything but so dumb at the same time. So disappointed in the way the world really was. Even his rage was hers. How many times she would have liked to just killed someone...but there was the real difference: she knew better and he didn't. She held out hope that maybe one day he would too and then, she could love him the way that she had always wanted to but only had for that brief moment when he was born.

She wanted to tell him the truth so many times. It could have made a difference. She would be ready to, she would pick a day and a time for it, and then he would inevitably find some way to screw it up that usually involved homicide. No, she was using that as an excuse. The truth was that she was afraid to tell him.

Not to say the words so much as what would come after. He would blame her. Tate couldn't accept responsibility for his own actions so he was always looking for someone to blame. His mother was a popular target, or his father for 'running off', or other people for being such assholes. Telling him the truth about his family would let him off the hook for good because **she **would be the scapegoat. She could picture it, the way he would pace back and forth and point and scream. "_You could have gotten me out of that house before it was too late! You could have told me why I was so different from the others! You could have loved me, you knew I needed that!" _

The problem was, he wouldn't be entirely wrong. She could have. How did she say to him that she had never been able to bring herself to love him after she saw what he was becoming? How did she explain all the resentment and bitterness that made her keep it a secret after it didn't matter anymore, at least to the living? So she let the chances pass her by, saying that she would tell him eventually. After all, they had time.

Now it was almost twenty years gone by with her dead son. Nearly forty since the time she held him close. Tate was looking out the window, watching the world pass them by. Violet had abandoned him. He had reached out to Doctor Harmon only to be rejected again. Seeing the look on his face, Moira thought the for the very first time, Tate felt truly sorry for what he had done. No excuses. No passing the buck. Accepting what he did and being grieved by it. It made her feel close to him somehow.

"I can't believe she left." he said, his eyes following a random car on the street. "Constance. Will she come back?"

Moira shook her head, speaking to him kindly now. "She couldn't risk it, not with the baby." Her grandson, now that she thought of it, not Mrs. Fuck-You-Very-Much Langdon's, but hers. "You should be happy, it's not as if you'll run into her at Saks."

"Yeah but..." he stopped, getting confused. "I mean, she's a total cunt, but I can't believe she just left. Beau's still here, and me. I didn't think she'd say fuck it and take off, just because she's got a new kid now."

He stopped watching traffic and hung his head. "My mom left me."

She took a breath that she didn't need to take. Time, time was all they had and maybe it was true what they said about it healing all wounds. She thought that perhaps enough time had finally gone by to heal some of hers. "She didn't."

"Yeah she did, she... _hey, sorry you're dead but email me some fucking time! _She's gone!"

"I know that Mrs. Langdon had left." she straightened out her apron, fidgeting nervously in a way that didn't suit her wrinkled skin. "But your mother is still here, and I won't ever leave you."

_**the end. **_


End file.
